Alyssa

The second we step inside Silas's hellhole, his guards pat us down for wires, weapons, and anything else that might help us get out of here alive.

War grips my arm—just firm enough to make it clear I'm not to be touched by anyone but Silas.

We move in silence, following Lee and the guards up a staircase lined with cracked wallpaper, expensive paintings, and that thick, heavy stillness that clings to places where women go missing.

The ache in my body is ...